I Missed You, I Love You
by lovemeidareyou
Summary: Set after City Of Glass. Jace and Clary will face indefinate separation as an unknown force stops all travel in and out of Idris whilst the Lightwoods are there visiting. Clary battles to save Simon from the consequences of the Mark of Cain.
1. Moving

Clary stared at the note. She thought her stomach had moved temporarily into her lungs and her brain was thus suffering from lack of oxygen. Her eyes were watering by the time she got half way, making the rest hard to decipher. _Breathe,_ she reminded herself.

_Clary,_

_I should have told you before, but I didn't know what to say, much less how to say it. It felt like I could put off the inevitable if I just ignored it, but now I have to accept that it's going to happen anyway._

_I love you. These past few months have been everything I ever imagined, and somehow better at the same time. Every time I see you, I feel like my heart might stop because it's so filled with my feelings for you. Even when you cried with frustration at your Mom when she wouldn't let you choose your dress for the wedding, and you buried your face in my shirt for hours - when I held you, it was so hard not to think how lucky I am that I'm the one holding you._

The note so far was making no sense. Some small voice in the back of her mind told her that this is what it sounds like when people break up, but she pushed the voice down. She and Jace weren't going to break up any time soon, Clary reminded herself.

_But you have to know that the Clave have lifted the curse on the Lightwoods. Maryse and Robert are moving back to Idris soon, and I have to decide whether to stay with them or stay at the Institute with whoever runs it next. Alec and Isabelle are going with their parents. And now I have to decide whether to leave my family or leave you, and it's harder than I could have imagined. I always thought I'd choose the Lightwoods, but now I'm not so sure. You've changed me, Clary, and I can't imagine being away from you for so long._

_You know that we're leaving for Idris for a few days, but by the time we come back, I have to have made my decision. I don't know how I'll do it._

_I love you,_

_Jace_

_P.S. Don't be mad at Alec and Isabelle for not telling you about this. I made them swear __not to._

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she reread the last bit of the note to make sure she hadn't misread it. To her dismay, she hadn't.

_Three days,_ she thought. _They're coming back in three days. Jace might be living half the world away in three days._

The thought made her gasp with fear for their still preciously new relationship. Up until now, she'd never thought of it as 'fragile' - the way that some new relationships were.

Now she wasn't so sure. How could any relationship withstand a distance like that?

There was a knock at her bedroom door. Clary did her best to brush away the tears as she went to open it.

"Hi, Honey, I -" Jocelyn stopped talking as she took in her daughter's appearance. Clary almost laughed as she thought about how she must look - red eyes, un - brushed hair, half dressed. "What happened?"

_I will not cry any more_, Clary told herself sternly. _I will not._ She took a deep breath.

"The Lightwoods are moving back to Idris," she said. Her breath caught on the word

'Idris', and a few glistening tears spilt over. "The Clave lifted their curse, and now-" _And now Jace might leave me_.

Jocelyn hesitated for a moment, then stepped into the room and gathered Clary up into a hug that reminded her of the time their cat had died when she was nine.

"I'll lose him," she gasped through sobs. "I've only just found him, and I'll lose him!"

"Shh," Jocelyn soothed, stroking her daughter's hair. "You won't lose him. Not if you don't want to."

"I don't," Clary said. She wiped her eyes and pulled out of her mother's arms. "Did you want something when you came here," she asked.

Jocelyn smiled. "Yes, actually. I was going to tell you that Luke agreed with you that you should have free reign over your dress for the wedding. _As long_ as it keeps with the theme." She pulled out a catalogue proclaiming to be the only place to go for wedding planning, and handed it to Clary.

"It's a wedding," Clary said, sitting on her bed. "Clearly, the theme is _white_."

Jocelyn chuckled. "Jace is rubbing off on you."

Clary looked up, not quite sure what to say. Part of her wanted to tell her mother that, no, Jace was nothing like her. Another part wanted to grin that she had spent enough time with him to pick up his sense of humour. She compromised, and arranged her features in a small smile that she hoped didn't betray too much of either emotion.

In the end, Clary decided that she wasn't going to focus on dresses when her life was so close to falling apart, and abandoned the catalogue as soon as Jocelyn left the room, opting instead for her sketchbook. She drew a sketch of her mother and Luke's wedding, where the two of them were facing each other and holding hands between them. Both of them were wearing radiant smiles that made Luke look younger and Jocelyn look even more beautiful than usual. At one corner of the picture, nearer Jocelyn, she drew herself watching them. The dress she had on was neither the one Jocelyn hadn't allowed her to wear, nor like any she'd ever seen - instead, she just drew what came to her mind as she thought about Jace and how far away could be living.

Thinking about Jace made her abandon the sketch without drawing in the best man and turn over to a blank piece. She grabbed a piece of charcoal from her desk, and began tracing a tall boy in black Shadowhunter gear. He was turned away from her, but twisting back so she could see his face and the seraph blade that he was wielding. She moved the charcoal across the page in strong, swift movements, her hand sure that it knew every detail of Jace's form.

She'd just finished and drew back to look at it, when someone walked through her door.

She flipped shut her sketchbook and dropped it lightly on the floor beneath her before looking at the intruder.

"I would apologize for invading your space like this, but I fear it would be insincere as I am not, in fact, sorry in the slightest," he said. His spiky hair looked blacker than usual against the glittery silver floor-length coat he wore.

"Magnus!" Clary exclaimed, then paused. "Why on Earth are you here?"

"Because, my little ignorant Shadowhunter," he smiled wanly. "We seem to be in the same position."

"We are?" said Clary, confused. She nearly slapped a hand to her forehead as she understood what he meant, though. "Oh. You heard about the Lightwoods moving."

Every bit of Magnus, from the tips of his hair to the tails of his coat seemed to lose a bit of energy as he sat down on her bed and turned his cat's eyes despairingly at Clary.

"Alec's going with them," he said.

Clary sighed. "I know. I think Jace will too."

"I've contemplated moving to Idris too," Magnus continued, ignoring her. "There's a wonderfully isolated cottage just outside Alicante where I could practice some of the more conspicuous spells I haven't been able to before. But it is also unacceptably far away from anything remotely resembling uptown, and just _what_ I would do without a social life is unusually beyond me."

He threw himself back on her bed, shoes and all. Clary almost opened her mouth to protest, but thought the better of it.

Magnus sighed. "In four hundred years of magical existence, I have never once met a conundrum that I haven't been able to solve - if it didn't bore me enough to ignore it anyway. And then along comes Alec, nothing more than a Shadowhunter, with whom I somehow fall in love. And suddenly my entire way of thinking is thrown into turmoil equaling that of a Fey child trapped in a room of iron."

Clary saw her chance as he paused. "Tell me about it," she said. "You're talking to someone who thought she was a mundane for fifteen years, then discovered that her father was, in fact, a power-hungry, twisted, as-close-to-an-evil-overlord-as-you-get-in-real-life _maniac_ hell-bent on destroying an entire race of humans who - by the way - hunt _demons_ of all things, and are effectively the policemen of all sorts of mythical creatures that I never knew existed!" She took a deep breath and met Magnus's astounded gaze as he sat up to stare at her.

"That," he said, "is in no way the same thing."

Clary rolled her eyes in a way that she probably would never have dared to do at Magnus under normal circumstances. "Right. I forgot to mention that along the way I fell in love with a guy who turned out to be my brother, and then, um … not," she finished, somewhat lamely. Magnus seemed not to notice.

"As much as it pains me to admit," he told her. "You're right."

Just before she thanked him in what she felt sure would have been an astounded voice, Clary felt her face fall. "Not that it helps."

He met her gaze steadily. There was a time, he thought, that this girl whom he'd watch grow up from when she was about two years old, would have been unnerved by him. As he remembered this, Magnus realised how oddly glad he was that she was not like this any more. "What are you going to do?" he asked her as gently as his arrogance would allow.

"I don't know," she said. "I only found out about two hours ago anyway."

"And I, approximately ten minutes ago when Alec sent me a message," Magnus told her, suddenly frustrated. "As if he didn't have ample opportunity to tell me personally that their little weekend trip was to visit their new home."

Clary blanched. "They're visiting the new house?" She felt the dregs of hope that it was a bad joke slip away, unaware until then that she had even been holding on to them.

Magnus nodded, then stood up abruptly. "Well, my equally uninformed Shadowhunter-fledgling, it seems that this little tête-à-tête has come to an end." He crossed to the door, ignoring Clary's surprise. "I sincerely hope we don't do this again."

"Oh, okay," she said, hurrying to see him out. "Um, bye."

"Oh, Clary," said Magnus, turning back to her. "If anything I've said here leaves your fragile mind, I shall cheerfully erase your memory of this for you." He grinned at her and glided downstairs before Clary could have a chance to respond. Magnus might have dressed it up as a joke, she thought, but she wouldn't put it past him to modify her memory if she _did_ let anything slip of this brief (but very telling) meeting.

* * *

"Wait, Magnus visited _you_," Simon exclaimed as Clary mentally scolded herself that she shouldn't have said any more than 'the Lightwoods are leaving for Idris'.

She and Simon were sat on the porch steps outside Luke's house. It was twilight, the time that Simon always came to visit her if they hadn't seen each other that day for some reason. Since everything that had happened in Alicante, and the amount of bad luck that seemed to be following them both around, they had mutually decided on seeing each other at least once a day.

"Ye-yes," she said carefully, mind racing as to how she'd explain this to the warlock. "But, um, it was only for, uh, something unrelated…"

Her voice trailed off as she saw Simon's disbelieving expression.

"Right," he searched her eyes for a moment, then seemed to decide it was better giving her the benefit of the doubt. "Well, Clary, I don't pretend to particularly _like_ Jace, but I am sorry he's leaving. I'm sorry they're all leaving." Simon looked at his lap. "Apart from you, they're the only human friends I have that I can by myself around, fangs and all."

Clary let him put an arm around her, and leant her head into his chest the way they always used to when either one of them was upset. "I think I've had just about enough change without this, you know," she told him.

"Yeah, I think I know what you mean," he laughed.

They sat in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts, until the moon came up and the night turned velvety blue, and Simon detached himself from her to rise gracefully to his feet. Watching him, Clary shivered slightly. After nearly a year of Simon being undead, she still hadn't quite got used to the grace that came with the territory of vampirism.

"I have to go see Maia," he told her awkwardly in response to her questioning look. "She said she had to tell me something after school."

Although Maia had done so unwillingly, Simon had convinced her to enroll in the same school as him for the remainder of the year. It had taken a while, but eventually she agreed that if it meant more time with Simon, she was happy. The two had been a couple for just over two months, after Isabelle had assured Simon that there was a handsome ifrit that had caught her eye. Clary had wondered if dating half demons ran in the family.

"Hey," Clary called as he began to walk away. "It's your birthday next week."

Simon groaned. "Don't remind me. Just another way to remind me that I am forever -" he gestured down his marble white body - "sixteen."

Clary giggled. "Just think of the amount of movie stars that would kill to be in your position. You could get a lot of publicity if you went into showbiz."

"Oh yeah," said Simon sarcastically. "I'll just announce it on my resume that they don't need to worry about aging 'cause _I've_ found the cure to growing older."

With that, he turned and disappeared in the direction of the old police station that Luke's pack inhabited. Clary stared at the spot where he'd left her line of vision for a moment:

The towering spires of the Institute where the Lightwoods lived. _And yet as they're looking at the new house, I guess ... I guess they don't anymore_, she thought with yet another a sinking feeling. _They live in Idris_.

The thought threatened to bring more tears to her eyes than had already been spilled, so she closed her eyes on the Institute and turned back into the house.

Inside, Luke and Jocelyn were sat on the new dark brown sofa, talking in low voices. One of the first things Jocelyn had done when she moved in with Clary and Luke was to throw out the old bloodstained couch and buy a new one that wouldn't show past injuries and mishaps as much or as easily.

Luke spotted her. "Clary! You're back."

She shrugged. "I didn't really go anywhere."

"Can we talk to you for a minute, Honey?" Jocelyn asked tentatively. Clary shrugged and nodded. She sat on a chair opposite them.

"The thing is," Luke began. "with Jace and the Lightwoods moving -"

"Jace might not go," Clary interrupted. She'd been taking it as inevitable that he would up until now, but something in her made her want to be absolutely clear that Jace might stay at the Institute.

"Clary," Jocelyn reasoned gently. "He's lived with them for seven years. They're his family."

"He lived with Valentine for ten years," Clary said, narrowing her eyes. "That didn't stop him trying to kill him."

She knew she was toeing a very thin line by talking about Valentine out of anger, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that Jace might not leave her, and making sure that her mother and Luke understood this before they took all sorts of pity on her.

"That's enough," Jocelyn's tone lost all friendliness, and Clary was reminded of how dangerous her mother actually was. "We're here to talk to you, not to argue, and if you can't do that without picking at us, then you'd better go."

Clary rolled her eyes but stayed silent.

Luke started again. "Since they're moving to Idris, we thought we would offer you a sort of compromise." He glanced at her mother before continuing. "You can continue your Shadowhunter training in Idris, _but_ -" he stressed as Clary gasped. "You come back here once a month for a week."

A mixture of relief and confusion washed over her. _I'll still see him! _

"Who would teach me?" she asked, looking between the two. The two of them had been teaching her the theory that she had missed out on during her mundane existence ever since the battle in Alicante. Although there was no weapon handling and no rune-magic involved in this, somehow Luke and her mother had managed to make the lessons entertaining and engaging. Clary couldn't see how anyone would manage to tutor her demonology in quite the same way.

"Amatis has agreed to let you stay with her," Luke said. "And she'll help you with your theory, as well as with runic studies. We haven't talked to them yet but -"

"We both think that Alec Lightwood would be an excellent weaponry tutor," Jocelyn finished.

Clary bit back a cry of surprise. Alec, tutor her in combat? She couldn't help but feel that this would be a fairly weird arrangement, considering the two of them had spent much of the past year in mutual dislike of one another. Luke seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"I know you might think it slightly odd," he grinned slightly. "But Alec is probably the most adept fighter in Alicante at the moment. He had the benefit of the Lightwoods' ruthlessness in combat and Hodge Starkweather's vast knowledge of all things demon. Not every Shadowhunter has that kind of education."

"And," Jocelyn added before Clary could interrupt that, by this reasoning, Jace or Isabelle could also be her teacher. "He's eighteen."

Clary thought about it. It was almost certain that, love or not, Jace would stay with the Lightwoods. Her parents were giving her the choice not to lose him, to keep him as an integral part of her life. Not to mention that studying with Amatis and Alec, as weird as it might be initially, would be useful in any future arguments she might have with Jace about hunting demons with him.

"Okay," she said eventually. "Let me think about it."

"That's all we're asking," Luke said.

Clary nodded at him and stood up. Before she left, she turned back and addressed Luke. "How's Maia doing in school?"

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Not badly, I hear. For someone who's missed over a year of education, she's doing remarkably well. Any particular reason?"

Clary hesitated. "No," she smiled at him. "No reason. I'm going upstairs. Call me when dinner's ready."

* * *

**_A/N_**: I know this chapter doesn't flow very well, and it was origionaly just written for fun. But I got some decent plot ideas out of this, and after one more slightly painfully slow chapter, there will be some action, some weird happenings, and some things that don't quite add up for you to think about :)

Also, to those of you who believe Jace's hesitation in choice between Clary and the Lightwoods was purely out of character, and that he would choose Clary no matter what; I agree with you. But the key phrase there _is out of character_, so I went with what I thought his initial reaction would be.


	2. Marked

**Author's Notes: **This chapter was written and updated so quickly because unfortunately, I must soon relinquish all my time to studying for six ridiculously time-consuming exams. The next chapter is all worked out, but probably won't be up for some time. Earliest will probably be in the ten day period break I have, which is mid to end May. Enjoy this one!

* * *

Clary had often likened Time's sense of humour to Jace's - they both tended to use irony in order to let you know that they had the hold over you. She contemplated this again now as she thought about how quickly the day had gone, and how little had been done. _I've drawn a lot_, Clary supposed as she tried to find at least one meaning of the day that had nothing to do with the note from Jace.

As if the thought had prompted her to do so, Clary reached over from her position on the end of the bed and grabbed her sketchbook from where she had let it fall earlier. There were still one or two sketches from months ago in there, she realised as she flipped through to the beginning. She caught a glimpse of one of the first times she'd drawn Jace, with angel wings that were feathery to the touch. She saw one where she'd used pastel to portray the small boy sitting in a library reading anime.

Clary stopped flicking through the book when she saw this one. The beginnings of a headache started manifesting as her eyes stung with regret that she'd only ever draw little Max Lightwood from memory again.

_But he wasn't little_, she reminded herself. _If all of us had just realised that then he'd still be … then we'd have caught Sebastian before … then it would have worked out better._

Clary took a deep breath, trying to hold any more sadness at bay, and turned back a few pages to the sketch of Jace as an angel. She lay back on her bed as she stared at his strong features, and stroked the wings continually.

"Oh, Jace," she whispered. "Why is it that every time we think it's going to be okay, something happens to completely change that? Sometimes I think…" Clary looked away from the sketch and closed her eyes against what she felt sure was some kind of betrayal, although she kept running her fingers across the feathery wings. "It's just, sometimes it feels like things would be much easier if I didn't love you and you didn't love me. Doesn't it?" she looked back at the sketch with worried eyes. "I mean, how many times have we both let this cloud our better judgement?"

She didn't know how long she spent just staring, but Clary was sure that her last thought before she slipped into sleep's grasp was that even loving Simon, who had three or four death wishes out for him, would have been easier than loving Jace.

* * *

Having been undead for so long, Simon barely thought about how the breeze hitting his face as he ran resembled more of a gale-force wind, or about how anyone who fleetingly glimpsed him would probably head into the next bar to wipe away the fear that they weren't hallucinating.

He turned down an alley that he'd found a few months ago as a shortcut, sprang over a wall twice his height, and kept running the other side. Simon knew Maia wasn't like any other girl in New York, and therefore, where every other girl would yell at their date for being late, he knew Maia wouldn't.

Maia would probably opt for turning into a wolf.

As he faced the street where the police station was, Simon slowed to a walking pace that, whilst still slightly inhuman, definitely negated the idea that he'd had to hurry to get there. Maia was standing outside what proclaimed to be a Chinese takeaway service, looking either side of the street anxiously.

"Simon!" she called as she caught a glimpse of dark hair and pale white skin. Simon grinned uncontrollably. Part of him was still in awe of how for some odd and unknown reason, this stunning werewolf girl was happy to see _him_.

"Hey, Maia," he said, pulling her into a tight hug as soon as he was within reaching distance. "Good day?"

The girl nodded. The scent of strawberries washed over him as her nearly-black hair brushed against his cheek. Maia looked up from where she'd buried her face in the crook between his shoulder and neck, a habit that Simon found as familiar as he did endearing. "You?"

"Yeah," he smiled at her. "You look great, by the way. Really," he added as she pulled a skeptical expression. Maia rarely wore her hair loose these days, but every time she did, the way it seemed to illuminate her cheekbones and make her eyes shine a little brighter made Simon catch his breath. It didn't particularly matter that today she was wearing an oversized grey t-shirt with jeans.

"Okay, whatever, I'm not going to argue," she blushed. "But let's get out of here before the rest of the pack sees-"

"Why hello, my young Nightly couple," a male voice floated from the depths of the takeaway. Simon caught Maia's eye, and they groaned simultaneously.

"Too late," she sighed. She seemed to steel herself quickly, then turned away from Simon to face the huge figure now emerging onto the street.

"You know," the figure smiled at them. "It could be quite fun if Toby just happened to come up here. He's been waiting for an opportunity to tell his new Night Child joke for weeks."

"And we," snarled Maia, "Have been avoiding the same opportunity for weeks. So you'd better not call him - _don't_!"

The man, who Simon supposed was probably barely older than himself although his hulking muscle made him appear mid-twenties, turned from where he'd been poised to yell back into the building. He grinned, and Simon felt a slight pressure against his lower lip where his fangs had begun to slide out in response to the palpable wolfish quality to this man.

"Right, Paul," Maia glared. "What do you want?"

Paul nodded at Simon. "First, I want Leech here to give me a fight."

"Not happening," Simon dismissed. "Any other easy ones?"

Paul's expression turned into an annoyed smirk. "Scared, Daylighter?"

Simon considered the six-foot-something massive werewolf in front of him, and slowly raised his hand up to his forehead. "Nope," he said, moving his hair out of the way so the man saw the mark on his forehead.

The smirk faltered, and Paul took a step back. "Whatever. Just get me a burger from Taki's."

"Do you _have _to freak out everyone in the pack?" Maia demanded as soon as Paul had retreated back inside, and the two of them had set off towards the restaurant hand in hand.

Simon grinned at her. "It's kinda fun," he admitted.

"Yes," she growled playfully. "But pretty soon Luke's going to make you wear make-up to cover that thing."

He scowled. "No way. Not wearing _anything_ that might look remotely like it belongs in a woman's purse."

Maia giggled. Simon took this as a sign that he could safely untangle his hand from hers and plant it around her waist.

As they approached Taki's, a few drops of rain splattered on their faces. She wrinkled her nose.

"I bet it's not raining in Idris," Maia rolled her eyes.

"Does it _ever_rain in Idris?" he asked.

Maia frowned, making her look like she was trying to remember something very important for a geometry quiz. Simon's heart would have skipped if it were beating.

"I'm not sure, actually. Maybe not. I'll ask Luke."

They approached the Ifrit at the door, who held his hand out to inspect Simon briefly. He looked him up and down, and suddenly, Simon was captivated by the glowing cherry-red eyes on the bouncer. They seemed to be filled with a swirling matrix of letters and runes, all the same colour, yet somehow decipherable. As he watched, he realised that he recognised some of the runes from somewhere. One of them, an intricate design of swirling and straight lines contained in a circle caught his eye. _Marked_. That seemed strange, Simon decided, still looking at it. Why would there be a rune for "marked" when having a rune at all meant that you were marked? The rune transfixed him as he watched it curve new patterns around the Ifrit's eyes and -

"_Simon!_"

Maia's voice jerked him out of the trance. She was stared at him with worried eyes. He tried to rearrange his smile into a reassuring smile. Her eyes grew wider, and he abandoned the attempt.

"Sorry," he mumbled to the bouncer, who was glaring at him. "Let's go in, Maia."

Inside, Simon sat in the first available booth. He scooted over so Maia could sit next to him, and opened the menu, trying to hide his embarrassed expression.

"Simon."

He looked up to find Maia staring at him questioningly. He set down the menu awkwardly.

"I don't know," he told her. "I don't know what that was. Ifrits don't have powers right?" She nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't meant to make you worried."

She pushed a strand of hair away from her face, which fell promptly back. "Don't worry. Can't be worse than last year on that boat." She shivered gently at the memory of Simon's blood flowing freely from his neck, wrists.

"Maia," Simon reached over and tucked the disobedient hair behind her ear. "It's okay."

"I know," she smiled. "With you, I feel like it's always going to be okay."

Simon withdrew his hand, suddenly uncomfortable, but Maia caught it.

"Uh," he said, not sure how to respond.

"What are you going to eat, then?" she breezed, picking up the menu with the other hand and turning to the back page.

"What?"

"To eat. You know, chew, swallow. Or," she hesitated. "Drink, ingest."

Simon laughed, relaxing. "For me, I think the latter."

They trawled through the menu, Maia laughing at the strange foods on the Vampire menu that Simon was forced to choose from, and he in turn mocking the oddities on the Werewolf menu. They skipped the Fey menu after she noticed how suddenly paler, if possible, Simon had become.

"So, orders for my favourite couple?" Kaelie smiled at them. She had become something of a friend to the two, always favouring them over the other Vampires jeering at the strange nature of their relationship.

"Hi, Kaelie," Maia said brightly. "I think I'll have the usual."

Kaelie turned to Simon, silver pen poised. "And you, Fang?" she teased.

Simon ignored her, gazing instead at the menu. The print seemed to be swirling around, words jumping about the page, he marvelled. Perhaps this was part of the charm at the restaurant, the mind-bending menu hypnotising customers…

"Simon!"

"Uh, the chips from the Vampire menu?" he asked tentatively.

"Red sauce?"

"Er, yes please," he answered, well aware of Maia's queasy expression.

Just before Kaelie left, Maia called her. Simon noticed she was faintly green, and cursed again how annoying it was that he couldn't eat anything without blood.

"You know what, Kaelie? I think I'll take a coffee instead of a shake," she told her, before turning back to him. "It's nothing to do with you," she assured him unconvincingly.

Simon smiled. He was glad that she tried to hide her disgust, even if she didn't do too well. It made him feel like she really wished she didn't care. "That's okay. So, anyway, you wanted to talk to me about something?"

"Right," Maia sat up a little straighter. "Well, I was doing research on your Day -"

"Well well well," came a sneer from behind them. Simon glanced up and cursed as he recognised the voice as one of those from the Vampire colony that lived at Dumort.

"Elliot," he greeted him tensely. "How's things at the Hotel?"

The Vampire slid into the empty booth behind theirs with a few of his companions. Simon recognised them too, although he didn't know their names. Both of them were eyeing Maia the way one might regard a piece of mould growing under the sink.

"They are well, Daylighter." He grimaced slightly. "Although Raphael is feeling the consequences of ever allowing you to be Marked." Elliot's eyes flicked up to where the bit of hair on Simon's forehead covered the Mark of Cain that he'd made Clary draw on him a few months ago.

"Raphael should have known better than to threaten me," said Simon calmly. It was amazing really, he thought, how much he had changed in the last year. If his past self could see him now, well … _I'd never believe it_.

One of Elliot's companions leant towards Maia. Simon felt a growl reverberating in her chest as her ears flattened.

"Well, Daylighter, _we_ know better than to threaten you. As for your little girlfriend…" the vampire grinned to show his fangs extending from their sheaths.

Before anyone could say anything, Kaelie appeared out of nowhere and thwacked him on the head with her silver Birch pen.

"You pick a fight with them, you pick a fight with me," she warned him dangerously, all-blue eyes flashing. "Don't forget I serve the food."

* * *

_Clary was in the basement of the Wayland manor again. She could see clearly the runes on the floor that kept Ithuriel captive. She shivered as she snapped her head around anxiously, taking in her surroundings. Not much had changed. Across her was the empty cage where the angel had been, where she had watched him die. A sense of foreboding settled in the pit of her stomach as Clary remembered that day. But she hadn't been alone, she realised. She looked around, expecting to see Jace, but there was no one else. A movement caught her attention. The cage was no longer empty. A tall, chained man was there instead, his white feathery wings protruding massively from his shoulders. He looked up, and Clary's breath caught. "Jace!"_

Clary woke, gasping. The dream had shaken her internally, and left a sheen of sweat filming over her skin. She sat up, sending her forgotten sketchbook flying. Bending hastily to retrieve it, she looked around and noticed that the day hadn't seemed to progress anymore from when she'd been sitting outside with Simon.

_So when I want to just sleep all evening, I'm not allowed,_ she thought, frustrated. Clary looked at the clock stood on her bedside table. About half an hour had passed since Simon had left her on Luke's porch steps. _Great_.

She sighed, and hopped off her bed. She headed across the room to the door, when something distracted her. A piece of paper was flapping in the gentle breeze from her open window, attached to the wall just above her bedside table.

"How have I not seen that before," she muttered, going to rip it off the wall. It came off easily in her hand. It was a piece of pale pink paper with a few nonsense words on it. She flipped it over to find a drawing of a rune, and a message.

_In case you decide to do us all a favour and forgive your arrogant little boyfriend after all_.

A few stray particles of glitter floated off the piece of paper. "Magnus," she realised. A small voice in the back of her mind wondered if she could really trust what looked suspiciously like a spell from a warlock who'd -

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped at herself. A slow smile spread across her face as she realised that Magnus had probably given her a way to talk to Jace without anyone else being aware of it. _That means no interruptions_, she thought happily. Recently, Isabelle had decided to take it upon herself to monitor how long Jace spent on the phone to Clary when he was out of town hunting some demon or other, and unfortunately, that usually meant their communication at all was slim.

A sense of anticipation began to fester in the pit of her stomach, and Clary, suddenly all too eager to talk to Jace, went and grabbed her stele.

Carefully, she traced the rune that Magnus had drawn for her next to the seemingly gibberish words, which she now supposed was a demon language. As soon as she finished tracing the last line of the curve, she looked back at it. _Activate_.

The rune glowed brightly for a moment, then disappeared along with the other words. For a moment, she thought it was simply a blank piece of paper again, but she peered closer, and Clary saw that what she was in fact looking at was a ceiling of some kind. As she watched, the room seemed to turn ninety degrees, and she found herself staring at a wardrobe with mirrors in it. In the mirrors, a very surprised Jace was staring back at her.

"Clary?" he asked, evidently astounded. She watched as the reflection of Jace walked to the mirror, and noticed that the scene itself seemed to be getting nearer to the reflection. _I'm seeing from his eyes,_ she observed.

"Jace," she began, but Jace cut her off.

"Are you mad that I didn't tell you face to face?"

Clary thought about this. "Yes," she realised. "You were with me the entire day yesterday! Couldn't you have told me then? Why didn't you?" she continued, ignoring his attempts to talk. "Instead, I find a note this morning when I wake up - which, by the way, seems to be happening a lot - and suddenly you live half the world away from me! Did you think that it might make it _easier_? Finding out _after_ you've gone that I didn't get to say goodbye?" Clary took a deep breath. It seemed to serve only to fuel her anger rather than to douse it.

"Clary," Jace interrupted before she could carry on. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"_What_?" she screeched. "Jace, you _wrote me a letter to tell me you're leaving_!"

"Well what was _I _supposed to do?" Jace demanded, a flash of anger shadowing his face. "Just drop it into the conversation? 'Oh, Clary, before I forget, I may just stay with my family over you and move to Idris'?"

Clary felt like she'd been slapped. The reality had been there, but Jace saying it like that made it frighteningly poignant.

He seemed to register what he'd said, and the anger in his face was replaced by a wave of horror. "Clary," he said, stepping back. The image moved back with him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I-"

"Yes, you did," she said quietly. "It's the truth."

"No it's not," Jace told her. His amber eyes shone with regret. "I still have a choice." He moved back towards the mirror and put his hand up to it. Despite her anger, Clary put her hand to his as it came to the surface of the paper. A hand appeared in the image, which she recognised as her own. _I'm not seeing through his eyes_, she realised. _I'm his reflection_.

"You can't say that there's no chance you won't go to with the Lightwoods. Idris is your home."

"Idris _was_ my home. It hasn't been for nearly eight years."

"Jace," Clary reasoned. "Idris is every Shadowhunter's home. That doesn't just change."

"What are you saying," Jace demanded, drawing his hand back sharply as frustration crept back into his tone. "That you _want_ me to leave you? What is it? Are you tired of -"

"How can you _say_ that?" Clary asked, horrified. "How can you even think it?"

Jace turned around, and the image turned so she only saw the rest of the room. Clary let out a growl of frustration.

"You know what," she called into the room. "Forget it."

Hurt and enraged, Clary grabbed her stele from where she'd set it down, and scribbled a rune between blinding tears. _End. End,_ she thought. _End._

She blinked a few times and saw that the paper had turned blank. She stared down at it for a minute. Suddenly, Clary jumped as a flame flicked up from the centre of the page, spreading quickly to the edges and reducing it to ash.

"Overdid it a bit," came a voice from the doorway. Luke was standing there with a small smile on his face. Clary nodded without meeting his eyes. She stared at the small mound of ash on her desk that had so recently been Jace's face.

"Were you looking for something?" she asked Luke, turning to him. He shook his head.

"I heard you shouting at someone. And besides, Maia's here. She wanted to talk to you about Simon."

"About _Simon_!"

"I don't imagine it will be dating tips," he smiled. "She wants to talk to Jocelyn and I as well."

"Oh," Clary said. "Um, okay then. Is she downstairs?"

Luke nodded. Clary got up heavily, and followed him downstairs where Maia was sitting on the couch across Jocelyn, who was occupying the chair that Clary had left earlier.

"Hey, Maia," she greeted the girl. She looked up with worried eyes. "What's going on? Is Simon alright?"

Maia nodded. "Yes, but I think the whole Daylighter thing is worse than just being able to walk in the light," she told them, eyes flitting between the three of them.

"What makes you say that?" Jocelyn asked her. She had her hands folded in her lap, but Clary noticed that they were grasping each other in a gesture she recognised as Jocelyn trying to stop herself interrupting more than necessary. Clary would have smiled if not for Maia's words.

"Well, today, he just froze. Twice," she added in response to Luke's questioning look. Clary felt her heart skip.

"Froze?" she asked. "He was paralysed? What happened?"

Maia nodded, still fixed on Luke, and Clary saw tears sparkling in her eyes. A flash of annoyance struck her. She still wasn't used to Maia having equitable reason to worry about Simon. _But she's his girlfriend now,_ she reminded herself.

"Yes," Maia whispered. "He didn't move or blink or anything. I called him four or five times the first time before he'd snap out of it."

Clary suddenly felt nauseous, and moved to sit next to Maia in order to stop herself passing out. Could his Daylighter powers be turning on Simon? She felt her ears rush and block out what Luke was saying. What would she do if something happened to Simon? She was the one who brought him into the Shadow World, it was her fault if something did happen to him. He'd escaped death so many times before - was this time one too many? Was it all catching up?

"You can go upstairs, honey," Clary heard. She looked up and saw Jocelyn observing her with concerned eyes.

"No." Her voice broke, and she realised she was breathing deep and fast. "No," she said again. "I want to know what's happening." _I have to know. _

"Okay," Jocelyn said, and turned her attention back to Maia. "So describe it exactly, please?"

Maia took a breath and a sip of water from the glass on the table beside her. "Okay," the werewolf girl began. "He just … He went rigid all over, as if he was paralysed, and didn't notice anything. The first time, I waved my hand in front of his eyes and he didn't seem to see at all. It was like he was in some sort of trace or something."

Clary steadied her breathing during Maia's explanation, and looked at Luke. He was looking at Jocelyn, who was reaching for an old volume off the bookshelf next to where she was sitting. There was silence as she flicked through the book until she apparently found what she was looking for.

"It's not his Daylighter abilities," she said.

Maia looked up, astonished. "It's not? Is he alright?"

Jocelyn ignored her last question and looked at Luke, panic rooted deep in her bright eyes. What she said cut through Clary like a blade of ice. "It's the Mark of Cain."


	3. Whispers

**A/N: Beta-ed! Thank you thank you thank you to Chairman Meow, who patiently tries not to yank her hair out at my ridiculous overuse of this that or the other!**

I know I've kept you lot waiting nearlly a month, and I only hope that you haven't lost interest. This chapter picks things up a bit (not so much crying from Clary), but it is also a monstrous 7000 words! I hope you like it :)

* * *

"It's not your fault, Clary."

Jocelyn was sitting on the end of her daughter's bed talking to a sizable lump under the covers that seemed to be sobbing. There was a gap in the distraught gasps as Clary fought her way out in order to glare at her, thumping the covers as she did so.

"_How_ could you _possibly_ spin it so it's _not_ my fault?" she demanded. She wondered if her red eyes might make her look more demonic or imposing. She thought probably not.

"Was it your idea to Mark him?" her mother asked, not unkindly.

Clary thought about this briefly. "No, but -"

"Did you go along with it without hesitation?"

"Well, no, but -"

"Were you unconcerned about the possible effects?"

"No," she began. "But -"

"Then it's not your fault," Jocelyn concluded simply.

"But I still _did _it!" Clary burst out before she could be interrupted again. "It was _my_ stele that Marked him! It was _me_ who remembered the Mark. It was _my _fault." Clary wailed the last bit, and dived back under the covers in despair.

Jocelyn stood up and addressed the heaving covers sternly. "Clary," she said, all trace of sympathy gone.

Clary emerged timidly, blotchy face leaving her looking rather like a squirrel guilty of raiding the pantry.

"Where is the Clarissa Fray who killed a demon just minutes after discovering the Shadow World? What happened to the girl who braved the Silent Brothers to regain her memory, who confronted High Warlock of Brooklyn to do so, and who rescued her best friend from a nest teeming with Night Children because he managed to turn himself into a _rat, _of all things?"

Clary giggled weakly.

"And where," her mother continued more gently. "Where is my daughter, who travelled the world in order to save her mother and defeat her father?"

New tears crept down the side of Clary's face as she slowly realised that Jocelyn was not trying to make her feel better anymore, but instead trying to tell her how much she was respected. But in spite of this, a nagging voice that sounded strangely familiar was whispering to her that it was luck, it was all luck, and that Simon was now in danger because her luck had run out.

"It was all luck," Clary echoed.

Jocelyn drew herself up tall, three-inch heels adding to her full Shadowhunter height. "It was not," she told her unsympathetically. "It was courage, integrity, and most of all, _talent_." She strode to the door and opened it. "When you remember that, come downstairs and help us save your best friend. Again."

With that, Clary's mother left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

For a moment, Clary sat in bed, unmoving, not entirely sure what to think. Jocelyn's tone had switched so quickly and unpredictably that it had left her slightly stunned as to whether she was being reprimanding or strangely comforting. Clary thought back a year and half, of a woman in paint-splattered overalls wielding several brushes simultaneously, fiery red hair clipped up messily and tongue absent-mindedly running along her bottom lip in thought. Back then, Clary had always known what Jocelyn was thinking when she was angry. _Or so I thought_. _There was probably some aspect of the Shadow World in all her anger that I never knew about._

Not for the first time, Clary wondered how well she really knew her own mother.

She sat back and let her swollen eyelids drift shut. She rifled through her memories until she came to the one that she wanted. Simon's face swam in front of her.

"_It might not hurt me at all. I mean, I've already been punished, right? I already can't go into a church, a synagogue, I can't say - I can't say holy names, I can't get older, I'm already shut out from normal life. Maybe this won't change anything."_

His eyes were full of pleading. He was _asking_ her to maim him, to curse him. The Clary-In-Her-Mind cocked her head at him. She knew what she was supposed to say now. She was supposed to say that, maybe it would change things. But her heart wouldn't be in it. And then she would draw it. The Mark that would save him. The same one that was now hurting him.

She wondered what would have happened if she refused. The Not-Clary tried it out in her head.

"_But maybe it will,"_ she said, as she had done before. And then, _"And if it does, then I couldn't live with myself. I won't do it_._" _

_The Dream-Simon's face fell as he drew Patrick's stele from Clary's belt. "Clary," he said. "Do this for me. Please." _

Strange, Clary thought. He still said the same thing.

_Dream-Clary frowned with the real one's thoughts. "No. We'll manage without the vampires. I can't do that to you." _

_The Might-Have-Been-Simon's eyes hardened. "You know you can't do it without Raphael's people. He was right; we'll all die. Please do this for me."_

_The Perhaps-Clary's eyes dropped. She reached out to Simon and took the stele with numb fingers. The tip touched to Simon's forehead as she thought of the Mark …_

Clary's eyes were weeping again, but they remained shut as she let the scene play out. It didn't matter, she realised. She could have refused as much as she wanted, but Simon would have said something to make her do it. A horrible feeling stole over her as her mind's eye completed the scene. Perhaps that made it even more her fault; clearly she wasn't a good enough person to refuse to hurt her best friend. Even when she had hindsight in her fantasies, she still Marked him.

_Knock, knock_.

Startled, Clary sat bolt up and hastily wiped residual tears away from her eyes and cheeks. "Uh, come in", she called, voice wavering as she realised how much of a mess she must look. Indeed, she caught a glance of her reflection in the mirror - the redness of her eyes contrasted with her pale skin and matched her eyes to give her a very ghostly appearance.

Maia's face appeared hesitantly around the side of the door. Clary's eyes snapped to her as she waved her in.

"Are you sure?" Maia asked, as if frightened that Clary were some kind of time-bomb. "It's just, you look fairly down and I don't want to make you feel worse…" her voice trailed off.

Clary stared. "_'Fairly down'_," she began sarcastically before realising that Maia was probably joking. "Oh. Um, don't worry. I don't think I could get much worse."

"Simon can't talk."

"I was wrong," Clary evaluated as her heart struggled in the decision as to whether to pound furiously or stop completely. "This is worse."

Something moist left a glistening trail down Maia's face. She looked like she was torn between yelling at Clary and comforting her.

She settled for, "I'm sorry," and they lapsed into uneasy silence.

"You can yell at me," Clary offered eventually. "I know I deserve it."

Judging by Maia's flattened ears, it looked like she was seriously considering doing just that.

"No," she said eventually, although there was a low growl underneath her tones. "I came here because I thought you should know that one of the wolf pack has gone to Idris to tell the Lightwoods what happened. And Jace," she added unhelpfully.

"Oh," Clary said, unsure of what her reaction was supposed to be. Happiness? Frustration? A new emotion previously unknown? "That's … good?"

Maia nodded enthusiastically despite continued snail-tracks of tears. "Luke says that there's bound to be something or some_one _they know that could help."

"Let me guess," Clary added, unable to keep slight bitterness from entering her tone. "Alec Lightwood has all the answers because he was brought up by the Lightwoods _and_ Hodge."

Maia looked confused. "Actually, I think he said that Isabelle was more likely to have answers."

Clary thought she detected a reflection of her own mildly acidic tone.

"_Isabelle?!_"

The were-wolf girl nodded, this time with less energy. "Apparently she was on some kind of Downworld exchange program just before you showed up."

"They _do_ that?" she wondered aloud. "I thought Shadowhunters hate Downworlders."

Maia looked unimpressed.

"Sorry," Clary added hastily, catching her expression. "I just meant, the Clave doesn't seem too … fond of you. And neither did the Lightwoods - so why risk an exchange program or whatever?"

"I don't know how to explain it," she began uncertainly. "I suppose the best way is kind of like your Mark. The one where Shadowhunters and Downworlders are linked." Clary nodded in understanding. "Well, some Shadowhunter families let their kids live with Downworlders for a bit. Probably reconnaissance," she added thoughtfully. Clary laughed.

"Probably. So who was Isabelle staying with?"

Maia shrugged. "No idea. Not with the Pack. Probably the Fey or a Warlock."

"That would explain how she met Meliorn," Clary muttered to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing." Clary untangled herself from her covers and gently prodded her face. It seemed less swollen. "Let's go downstairs. See what they're doing."

Maia shrugged agreement, and led the way out of Clary's room.

On the way down, Clary thought about what Jace must be doing at the moment. She could almost see him in front of her, face set in a mask of determination to find out what was wrong with Simon, and how to fix it. _Boys_, she mused darkly. _Always _fixing _things._

_But_, another voice sneered at her. _If this can't be fixed, then you'll have murdered your own best friend. What would your mother think of her pride and joy turning out to be nothing more than a killer - nothing more than Valentine -_

"No," she said aloud. "I'm _not_ like Valentine."

Maia stopped on the stairs and turned around, causing Clary to nearly walk into her and send them both tumbling down the stairs.

"Watch it, Wolf," she snapped. Then stopped. That wasn't her talking! Not at all - she had always respected, if not liked Maia.

"Sorry," Clary apologised feeling colour rising to her cheeks. "I - I don't know what that was. I didn't mean -"

"Whatever," Maia said coldly, and turned back around. Clary cursed under her breath. Why had she not thought about what she was saying before she said it? It's not like she wasn't the sort of girl who had to watch her tongue. At least not usually.

Downstairs, the room had taken on a sombre when Clary walked in. Everyone was rushing around in a sort of dream-like calm, presumably trying to fix Simon. She looked around for her best friend, but he wasn't there - had no one bothered to call Magnus to help? It didn't seem likely. These days, despite his vehement hatred for it, Magnus was the first on anyone's list.

On cue, the front door burst open as if caught by a sudden gale. The whole room seemed to jump with it's occupants at the loud _bang_.

"Garroway, if you do not have a reasonably legitimate reason for calling me here, like say, someone's head dropping off," Magnus informed the room. "I shall be morally inclined to transfigure every being in this room into a cat." He paused. "Aside from myself, of course. Tails are awfully inconvenient at the best of times."

Luke strode over to attempt wrestling the door shut. The wind that had blown it open seemed to be glittering blue sparks.

"Magnus Bane," Jocelyn addressed him, sweeping in from the kitchen. "I thought I heard your distinguishable tones."

Magnus's orange long coat swished around him as he bowed formally. Clary thought she detected a carefully measured amount of mockery in this gesture.

"Jocelyn Fairchild," he replied in the same oddly formal tone. "It would be such a shame to curse this room, and I think you are quite sensible enough to know that I am not joking when I say I will. So to what end do I owe this inconvenience?"

"Simon," Clary interrupted, suddenly very impatient.

Magnus seemed to attempt a sigh, although the effect was slightly ruined by the smile spreading over his face. "Rat-boy?" he asked. "Well, I'll try not to make the transformation too painful."

Clary flushed furious. "He's _dying_!"

"Again? Well, I can't say I'm surprised."

"_Listen to her!_"

Everyone looked around. Maia was clutching the bookcase as she shook, causing the whole structure to tremble with her. She growled loudly to emphasise the point. Jocelyn stepped beside her an lay a cool hand on her arm. Maia's growling quietened.

"Magnus," Clary's mother said just as calmly as before. "Simon's infection with the Mark of Cain has begun to take effect on him. He has lost his speech, but we're almost certain that this is just the beginning."

_Infection._

Unexpectedly, Magnus didn't jump to contradict her. Instead, he looked mildly interested.

"_Really_? That is almost excusable. Do continue."

Luke took over as he finally slammed the door shut, cutting off the wind mid-whistle. "Our girl Maia noticed that Simon was, er, distracted for lengths of times. Little things. Like the ifrit's eyes - the one who bounces at Taki's. Then apparently he just stopped talking mid-sentence and didn't continue."

Clary felt an icy hand twist at her gut as the world around her fazed out. She couldn't help but feel that _she_ should have been the one there, not Maia. _She_ should have been the one to instantly help Simon. Maia was just a - a _girl_. Clary focused in on her. She was still clutching the bookcase, but the shaking wasn't as violent. A small frown was creasing her forehead. _Not even a proper frown,_ Clary thought. _This is my fault_.

Magnus had drawn himself up importantly. Clary's mind registered distantly that enough conversation must have passed in order to cause him to wear an expression appropriate to having just been asked to fly a ship off the Demon Towers in Idris.

"…and I'll send a fire-message if by some miracle the books I've read thousands of times over, and which I'm sure don't have _anything_ about the Mark of Cain in them, actually do," Magnus was saying, sounding deliberately ticked off.

"Thank you, Magnus," Jocelyn told him, smiling. "Now, let me see you out."

"And we can discuss my payment outside?"

Jocelyn smiled. It was a smile that made Clary sure that, whatever Magnus wanted, he was not going to get it. "Of course," she said.

The two of them left, closing the door behind them. The second it snapped shut, Maia released the bookcase and hurried through to the kitchen.

"Maia?" Luke followed her through and Clary caught indistinguishable conversation. She heard her name being mentioned, but her mind was too far away to care.

A sudden, overwhelming feeling of fear encased her. Sitting down was instantly the most important thing she could possibly direct her energy towards doing. Clary stumbled from where she had been hovering in the stairway, and collapsed onto the couch. Seconds later, Luke came in. He strode over to her, but didn't make any moves to sit next to her, or to help her. Clary wondered if it was because he thought his fear was infectious. Hers certainly felt like it was.

"It's not that bad," Luke told her, sounding very much as though he didn't believe it himself.

Clary glared up at him. "I _muted_ my best friend!"

"Well, yes, but you know as well as I that with Magnus on the case - "

"He doesn't have a clue," she told him blankly. "You know he doesn't, but you're still pretending like everything will be okay because _Magnus Bane,_"_ - _she put as much sarcasm as she could into those two words as her voice heightened - "is on the case."

_Bang._

Clary's voice had risen to a hysterical shriek, and as if to punctuate her last words, the bookcase that Maia had been clinging to fell forward with a smack. Clary and Luke jumped back from where they were, and there was a moment of complete silence as both werewolf and Shadowhunter stared, wide eyed at the fallen shelf, before the kitchen and front doors burst open simultaneously.

"What happened!"

"We heard Clary shout and then -"

"I do believe someone lost control of their -"

"Are you okay?"

"Well, clearly they're in something of a shock -"

"Luke! You said you were just going to _talk_ -"

"Well no one's going to hear even if we _do _tell you -"

"_QUIET!"_

Jocelyn's voice rose above the rest, cutting the frantic din of babble off mid-sentence. Magnus studied his nails.

"Now that we've all calmed down and established peace -" he began lazily.

"Oh, please," Clary cut him off. "You were as loud as everyone else."

Jocelyn cut off Magnus's reply before he began with a stern hand being held up in his face. She looked pointedly at Luke, who gently steered a still slightly shell-shocked Maia towards the couch that Clary had vacated. Clary stepped away from it.

"Right," Jocelyn said commandingly, ignoring, if she had noticed, the sudden icy tension in the room between the two girls. "Luke, would you please tell us who did this?"

Luke shook his head at her. "No one touched it."

Clary wondered briefly if Luke ever minded the fact that her mother clearly had a more powerful presence than he. He didn't seem to, and Jocelyn seemed equally unaware during these times that he might mind. She concluded that he probably didn't.

Jocelyn was frowning at Luke, as if they were having some sort of secret communication in the look passing between them. "It's old," she said eventually. It was true - the bookcase was possibly one of the last things that Jocelyn had yet to replace or refurbish in Luke's living room.

There was a small pause before she continued, "And Clary's right, Magnus. You _were _as loud as the rest of us."

"Be that as it may," Magnus said airily, now running his hand about a foot above his head so that it brushed the tips of his glittered spikes, "Now that we all have adequate reassurance that all our fragile little tooshies are safe, I have one last question to ask before I depart."

"And that question would be..?" Clary asked, fairly content that she had won the upper hand against him for once.

"Who was in here when the bookcase decided to impersonate a lycanthrope with a silver bullet through his heart? No offence," he added, looking at Luke with an expression that clearly stated that he couldn't care less if he had caused offence.

"None taken," Luke told him. Maia frowned unhappily. "And it was just Clary and I. Why?"

"Excellent," Magnus concluded, clapping his hands together and turned with a grand swish of his cloak. The marks and patterns glittered sharply in the light. "Then I'll be off."

He glided to the door and opened it widely, sending a small burst of wind around the room. Clary thought she saw a glint of satisfaction as everyone shivered slightly, before the door clicked shut behind him with surprisingly little sound.

Immediately, Luke addressed the girls on opposite sides of the room.

"I don't particularly care for your attitudes," he told them sternly. "Maia, you're in my pack, and I expect far more gracious behaviour from you. Clary, you are living under my roof, and whilst you do so, there will be no more silent, or otherwise, feuding with members of my pack. Understood?"

He glared menacingly at them. They both shrunk back in shame.

"Yes," they muttered.

Luke's expression cleared. "Good. Now, you should know that Jocelyn and I are going to make a very short trip to Idris."

"To _Idris_? But -"

"Enough," Jocelyn told Clary before she could even begin her beg to come with them. "We are going to talk briefly with the New Clave to see if they have any resources they'd be willing to lend us." She hesitated for a moment. "The New Clave are our friends, but Simon is not their problem. The Night Children may be particularly difficult to sway, and as you know, there has to be a unified vote in order for them to assist us legally. It is for that reason, Clary, that you will not be accompanying us. The majority of the Council still fear your powers, and it would not be helping Simon if you were to be a hindrance."

Clary's mouth opened involuntarily. A _hindrance_?

"Without me Valentine would never have been defeated!" She argued.

"Clary," her mother said, tone softening. "They all know that. It's just going to take some time for them to understand that you're on our side."

_Makes sense_, Clary thought reluctantly.

Jocelyn continued as if she could hear her daughter's defeat. "We're leaving now. Magnus has opened us a portal outside and it would be foolish of us to let this opportunity go to waste. Luke?"

She held out a hand, which Luke took as he opened the door to allow her through first. "Be safe," he told them. "And do _not_ do anything or go anywhere stupid."

The door shut for the third time in about ten minutes.

* * *

"What is it about being told specifically to stay away from a place that makes you instantly run there?" Maia grumbled as she and Clary strode across the back alleys of New York.

Clary smiled slightly. "You're here too," she pointed out.

It had taken all of three seconds for Clary to convince Maia to accompany her to the local Vampire nest at Hotel Dumort as soon as Jocelyn and Luke had left, but considerably longer to prepare themselves for said trip, and it was now very close to midnight. Clary had raided Luke's weapons shelf in the back room for steles and seraph blades whilst Maia snuck back to the police station and got whatever she could find there, which happened to be a couple of mirrors.

"For reflecting moonlight," she'd explained to Clary's quizzical look. "In case they decide to be uncooperative."

The reasoning behind their little excursion was simple; the Vampires didn't like Simon. In fact, they would go out of their way to see him dead. And something about this, in conjunction with Raphael's legendary Christian upbringing, made Clary think that perhaps prying information out of them might prove a more fruitful effort than anyone's round-trips to Idris.

Maia had agreed. "I mean, so far there's two werewolves and a Shadowhunter in Idris because of this, and we're getting nowhere."

No one had bothered to mention that they had been abroad for no significant time at all.

Clary hitched the green backpack slightly higher as they passed under a pool of streetlight.

"Besides," she told Maia. "There was nothing specific about Luke's warning."

"I think," Maia said reasonably. "That walking into Dumort right now counts as 'stupid'."

Clary ignored her. "Remember what we're going to say?" she asked.

"Of course," Maia rolled her eyes. "it's not that hard. We tell them to tell us what we know or -"

"Shut up," Clary hissed, eyes darting around her.

"Right. Sorry."

The walk didn't seem as long as it should have, but it passed in silence. Maia supposed that they were both thinking about how this would play out. Her initial bitterness at being left behind when everyone was off saving _her_ boyfriend had caused her to agree to what she now was sure was the stupidest thing she'd ever done in her life. The only reason she was still striding along with wolfish confidence was because she felt like she had something to prove. Simon might have chosen her in the end, but she was acutely aware that she was still second next to Clary.

"You'd walk to the ends of the Earth for him, wouldn't you?" she asked impulsively. Clary nodded sharply.

Maia wondered if she'd do the same. Walking into a nest full of vampires required a certain amount of bravery, yes, but -

An outflung arm stopped her in her tracks.

Maia looked past the arm of Clary's that she'd walked into, and saw a towering building not ten feet ahead. She could just make out the sign above the door that proclaimed the once-grand place to be _Hotel Dumont_. She squinted slightly and saw that the "n" had been replaced with an "r".

"Vampires have a sense of humour," she observed.

Clary still said nothing. She was gazing up at the hotel as if steeling herself.

"Ready?" she finally asked.

Maia nodded, half trying to convince herself. "Y-yes. Yes." She took a deep breath. "Yes."

Clary looked at her weirdly before shrugging and taking a step towards the gate that separated them from mortality. Or immortality, Maia supposed.

"Clary, wait."

She turned around irritably. "What is it? If you've got cold feet, then leave."

Maia growled. "I have _not_ got cold feet. Being a werewolf, I tend to have warm feet as a rule."

"Then _what_, because I want to get this over with."

"I just thought; no one knows where we are."

Clary turned back and strode around the back of the hotel. Maia hurried after her, just in time to see her opening a grate and sliding down a small shaft. After a split-second hesitation, Maia followed her.

The shaft was fairly narrow, and Maia supposed it was once used for deliveries when the hotel was at it's prime.

Inside the hotel itself, she could see that, once, it probably _was_ a beautiful place. Whispers of grandeur still clung to the mouldy curtains. She barely had time to glance at all these things as Clary strode towards what looked like an old ballroom.

Clary herself felt that if she didn't get herself into a situation where turning back was not an option, she would do just that. It would be quite simple to just think that they would find the answers in Idris … that being here had no purpose … but no. She felt she had to do something reckless.

Seeing the hotel for the second time only brought back memories of the first. As her gaze swept over her surroundings, Clary saw the curtains that had torn from their first excursion here when Maia's pack had ambushed the vampires.

An imminent doorway announced the ballroom's presence. Clary stepped to the centre before she could hesitate, and turned her face upwards. The galleries were empty.

"Raphael!" she called. "I need to talk to you!"

At once, there was a barely audible rustling, and Clary heard Maia gasp as the balconies were suddenly full of ghostly figures staring down at them.

"What a surprise, Shadowhunter."

Clary looked back down. Raphael was standing in the doorway she had just passed through, with a much taller woman behind him. It appeared to be the boy who had spoken, though.

"You're not surprised at all," she told him coldly.

He cocked his head slightly to the right and smiled very slightly. "No, I am not. But I find that it amuses my people to toy with human emotions."

Clary could feel Maia behind her, a fierce growl festering in every inch of her shaking body. _Stay in control,_ she willed the girl. _For Simon._

"Clarissa Morgernstern. So you are the Shadowhunter girl that Raphael has reported of," the tall woman finally spoke. She had a very high voice, radiating a certain power that Clary had never come across in a vampire before. This must be the woman in who's stead Raphael had been leading.

"Well, you may not be loved, but they always recall your name," Maia whispered.

Clary hissed back. "Now is not the time to be quoting Simon's music."

"You recognised it?"

"He's been trying to get me into it for years."

"It's pretty good."

The tall blonde woman behind Raphael held up her hand to the girls. "Enough. You trespass on my territory, and you do so with a _werewolf_," she spat the word. "Your reasoning behind your assumption that we would not kill you right here and now must be exemplary."

Maia whistled low. "I can see why she outstrips Raphael."

Raphael's cheeks coloured slightly. "Jacob," he called upwards. "Come here."

Clary recognised the slim vampire boy that jumped from one of the uppermost balconies to land, uncannily, on his feet.

"Raphael?"

The two vampire boys exchanged a look that Clary felt could be nothing good. As if to mock her, Jacob moved with lightning speed and caught Maia in his strong arms.

"Let go!" the werewolf shrieked as she struck at the vampire with strong arms. "Get the hell off me!"

Clary dropped the bag of weapons and started behind her to help, but Raphael was suddenly gripping her arm. "Don't", he told her.

Jacob's long arms were now wrapped around Maia's persistent torso. She kicked out at him, but he caught her leg with his, and sent her slamming to the ground. He put a boot-encased foot on her stomach.

"Don't move, Wolf," he told her unconscious form comfortably.

Clary turned back to the tall woman, wide eyes luminous with unwelcome fear that she tried to dispel with confident accusing words. "Why did you do that? There was no reason to!"

The woman grinned almost cockily. "Oh, but I disagree," she said superiorly. "On two counts. First, if you bring a deep-rooted enemy into our midst, you cannot expect us to simply allow it. And second; I did not order this." She looked at Raphael.

Clary glared at the boy and yanked her arm out of his grip. He let go, caught by surprise.

"Let. Her. Go." she snarled. "Now."

A flicker of fear passed briefly and satisfactorily behind Raphael's eyes, before the more familiar, cold, uncaring look flooded them. "No," he said simply. "We, as a race, owe you, Clarissa Morgenstern. You may leave now, unharmed. But we owe lycanthropes nothing, and as such, the wolf-girl will not be bestowed upon such mercy."

Maia stirred on the floor. Jacob pushed his boot into her stomach, earning a small groan of pain.

Clary glared at Raphael so hard that tears stung her eyes.

"What about Luke," she demanded angrily. "Without him, you would probably be dead by now. The Alliance rune saved your kind as well!"

Raphael shrugged delicately. "Possibly. But with no way of knowing that, we do not quickly bestow favours upon our enemies. Now, Shadowhunter, _leave_."

Clary drew herself up and reached into her pocket. The cool touch of a seraph blade handle sent calming vibrations through her arm. _I'm a Shadowhunter_, she remembered. _I am Jocelyn Fray's daughter. I can do this._

Another voice came, unbidden into her mind. _You're Valentines daughter,_ it reminded her. _And the power you have does not extend to Downworlders. Leave the girl. Save yourself._

"Shadowhunter," the blonde vampire called dangerously. "Make your choice, and make it quickly. We are not in a patient frame of mind."

As if to emphasise her point, the vampires in the balconies above stirred restlessly.

Then several things happened at once.

Clary drew out the angel blade, yelling, "Jafriel," as fast as her reflexes would allow, and spun to strike Raphael's side. He shrieked in pain as the bright light him; a shriek echoed by hundreds of unwitting vampires who had looked directly into the blade. The blonde woman screamed loudest, and leapt towards Clary almost as the blade struck the boy.

Before the tall vampire reached them, though, something threw Jacob into their path, and she struck him instead. Fifty vampires jumped from the balconies as the three already on the ballroom floor crumpled in a heap.

Clary didn't wait to watch them, though. She reached down and hauled Maia to her feet, before diving behind some moth-eaten curtains with the wolf girl.

"How did you get him off you?" Clary wondered Maia as the scuffle of disorder reached their ears from the other side of their haven.

Maia pulled a shining object out of her pocket. A mirror. She grinned and replaced it.

A sudden bubble of mirth escaped Clary as a repeat-play of the tall woman striking Jacob played in her mind. As if reading her mind, Maia joined in. Soon, they were laughing hard in spite of the imminent danger. Their laughter was short-lived, though, as an angry hissing reached their ears.

"Why aren't they attacking us here?" she asked hoarsely.

Clary looked at Jafriel, which was still burning brightly despite recently having sliced through a good deal of vampire arm. "I think it's this. They can't look at it, so theoretically, they can't look at us."

Maia looked at her, eyes shining. "Leverage," she said triumphantly.

Clary nodded. "Let's go."

The two girls stepped out from behind the curtains, Clary wielding Jafriel well ahead of them. She saw outlines against the light - several figures shuffling back in discomfort.

"Now listen well," she called confidently. "Because we're not really in the mood to repeat what we say."

There was silence, but Clary felt a stir beside her. She glanced just quickly enough to see Maia transforming into a sleek wolf. She grinned briefly.

"Simon," she said, looking directly at a distinctly dishevelled Raphael. "Remember him? Remember the Mark on his forehead?"

Raphael hissed, eyes still averted away from the angel blade. "The Mark of Cain. It was _your_ doing. Why come here because of _that_?"

Clary narrowed her eyes menacingly before realising no one could see her anyway. "I'm talking, not you. We're here because we _know_ you are well aware of it's effects and what it'll do to him. And," she hesitated uncomfortably. "We aren't."

Raphael let out a cold laugh. "Simon is damned as it is. The Mark may not -"

"Don't try to tell me it won't do anything," Clary snapped. "Simon told me. Told us. That night, you warned him it was consequential, and that he was foolish to be Marked with it."

The blonde woman stepped in front of Raphael's silhouette. She seemed to be more accustomed to the light than the others, but she still averted her eyes to somewhere above Clary's head. Maia barked violently. The vampire closest to them stepped back.

"It seems that Raphael was correct in prediction the Daylighter's idiocy, in this case," the woman told them. "You cannot blame us for misinforming him."

Clary's impatience finally reached the point where it mixed with her adrenaline, and she waved the blade so that it's light cut a wide arc across the congregation before her. There was a sea of hissing and spitting.

"Tell me what it does!" she shouted.

Raphael answered from behind the tall woman. "I will tell you, for payment."

"Forget -"

Raphael continued seamlessly. "_And now thou art cursed from the earth. A fugitive and a wanderer shalt thou be_."

Clary almost shrieked in annoyance. "What does that mean!?"

Maia barked again to emphasise the point.

Raphael's voice floated across to them again. "The Daylighter cannot walk upon God's earth," he said simply.

"That's not true!" she yelled. "There is nothing wrong with Simon's walking ability!"

The tall woman cocked her head. "Then perhaps _you_ should tell _us_ what is the effect of the Mark?"

There was a small breeze as Clary saw Maia transform back out of the corner of her eye.

"Forget it," she whispered. "They don't know anything. I know vampires; they're cunning, yes, but if their entire nest is in mortal danger - they'd talk."

Clary sighed slightly. A clock somewhere chimed midnight.

"Fine," she called, disheartened. "We're leaving. Don't try to stop us."

She waved the angel blade again. As she did so, her cell phone rang, ruining the menacing effect. She ignored it.

"Oh," said the blonde vampire, evidently amused. "And how do you propose you do that?"

"Like this," Clary said, drawing out her stele.

* * *

_**References: **_

1. _"What is it about being told specifically to stay away from a place that makes you instantly run there?" _

- Ghost Whisperer

2. _"Well, you may not be loved, but they always recall your name," Maia whispered._

- Lyrics are: "Well, I may not be loved, but they always recall my name"

From the song, 'Pete Wentz Is The Only Reason We're Famous' by Cobra Starship

3. You may have noticed the unshamed perversion of a scene from COG. Copyright of diologue to Cassandra Clare :)

* * *

**If you have an opinion, good or bad, please review! I really want to know what you think :) **

**P.S. I know you want to navigate away from the page without reviewing. Please don't; it takes two seconds, and it's really motivating!**


	4. Flurry

Luke's living room, as if recovering from the scene it had been subject to before, was silent. No one had bothered to move the fallen bookcase, or replace sheets of loose paper and magazines that had flown around the room when Magnus arrived complete with gale-force winds. Books were scattered everywhere, pages bent at odd angles, and covers half ripped off from their recent abuse.

A man who lived in the house _next_ to Luke's had heard the din in the middle of watching a particularly engaging episode of _Gilmore Girls_, and, after letting it finish, and was now determined to give his neighbour a piece of his mind.

Vincent Norse was a fairly patient man in nature. This was probably for the better; living near Luke invariably required ability to put up with sounds of large dogs howling loudly and continuously for three nights once a month, not to mention the fairly constant crashes and bangs that seemed to rack the bookstore.

But this time, Vincent Norse had had enough.

As if not already sufficiently irritable, he happened to severely hate stomping across Luke's lawn at past midnight on a Friday evening. To emphasise the fact, he tried his best to leave deep fisherman's boot-prints in the grass and tread mud up the steps to the front door as he gathered all his rage to the front of his mind, ready to terrify the middle-aged man.

Satisfactorily imposing, Vincent Norse put his index finger on the doorbell and pushed hard. The house remained as still has it had been for the previous forty minutes. Incensed, the man rang again; once, twice, three times, until he began feeling a strange disappointment that he evidently couldn't shout at Garroway tonight. As a last plea for opportunity to vent, Vincent Norse peered through the living room window.

***

"Ouch! Couldn't you control the landing with that super-power of yours?" Maia groaned as she and Clary landed in a heap on the fallen bookcase. "You could have steered half a metre to the right, you know."

Clary coughed, winded slightly from the fall. "Well, I'm sorry," she snapped as best she could with minimal air. "With you being knocked out by a six-foot vampire and Raphael telling horror stories about Simon's impending doom, it may have slipped my mind that the stupid bookcase is occupying half the living room floor."

The girls picked themselves up and surveyed the wreck. The bookcase was now no longer simply fallen; it had a sizable crack at the point of recent impact.

Maia groaned. "Luke's going to think that was me."

"What?" Clary asked, confused as to this deduction. "Why would he think that?"

"Because," Maia told her patronisingly. "Being a werewolf, I'm approximately eight times stronger than you and about ten times more likely to be able to do this."

Clary rolled her eyes and turned on the spot to make sure nothing else was damaged. She had used that particular rune once or twice before, but never with a werewolf in tow. The whole transportation had been exhausting to control, though she would never admit it.

When she swept her gaze past the window, something caught her eye and made her heart stop in its tracks. A man was staring straight at her, eyes frozen wide with terror and mouth hanging open in a silent scream. As Clary looked at him, the man suddenly seemed to regain some form of thought. He spun around and stumbled down the stairs, twisting back at the house in terror twice as he ran across the lawn and into a house next door as fast as his legs would allow.

"Oh no," Clary groaned, seeing this. "Maia, we have a really big problem."

"What is it?" Maia asked, quickly jerking round to see what Clary was staring at. "Is it a demon? A faerie? A vampire?" Her ears flattened at this suggestion and she dropped to all fours, growling menacingly at the window.

"No, nothing like that," Clary assured her hurriedly. "It was a man. A mundane. I think he's Luke's neighbour. Norse or something, his name is."

Maia shivered back up to her normal form, shaking her hand as she did so. Clary looked, and saw receding claws.

"Does that help?" she asked curiously.

"The shaking?" Maia shook her head. "It's just a habit. Anyway, we have to deal with this Norse guy before he complains to the council and shuts the bookstore down."

Clary rounded on her incredulously. "_Or_ before the Clave catches on," she suggested

"Oh, right," Maia agreed. Then, seeming to realize the impact of this, "Oh, _right_. Oh no, that's not good."

"Hence the really big -"

A door slammed upstairs, and both girls turned to see what was happening. Seconds later, a tall large-built greying man was glaring at them furiously.

"I'm not sure whether I should be angrier that you left the house after specific instructions not to, or that you exposed us," Luke shouted.

Maia and Clary instantly dropped their heads in shame. This was, without a doubt, worse than exposure.

"Jocelyn and I searched the house after you didn't answer your cell phone, Clary, and what do we find?" His voice rose louder than it already was. "Neither of you are anywhere to be seen! We call the institute and are told that no Shadowhunter or werewolf have passed it's doors for a day. I call the pack and Toby tells me that he hasn't seen you for hours. _What_ could have possibly possessed you to go gallivanting wherever you were?"

The girls mumbled something indistinguishable.

"Where were you, anyway," came Jocelyn's scary-calm voice from the stairway.

Clary looked up guiltily. "Thevamnesador," she mumbled. Maia shot her a ridiculing look from under her lashes.

"Even I couldn't hear that," Luke growled.

"The - the vampire nest at Dumort," Clary said, bracing herself for more yelling. She felt Maia do the same as she stiffened next to her.

"You went where!?" he started, outraged.

"And just what did you think that would bring," Clary's mother asked in steely tones.

Maia answered this one. "We … uh, we weren't … well, we weren't that sure." Colour flooded her cheeks as Luke rounded on her.

"You - are - a - _werewolf - _Maia," he growled. Clary shot back the slightly mocking look Maia had given her. "You do not walk into Dumort without backup, none of us do!"

The wolf girl nudged Clary, who got the hint.

"I was there," she said boldly. "And we made it out just fine, didn't we?"

As if to mock her, Maia coughed away dust at that moment, hand flying to her stomach where she'd been detained by Jacob not twenty minutes ago.

Jocelyn raised her eyes.

"And Maia is 'just fine', is she, Clarissa?" she asked. Clary winced at use of her full name.

Maia looked up shamefacedly, as a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar might. "Yes?" she tried.

Jocelyn strode past Luke and put her hand, none too gently, on the girl's stomach. Maia gasped involuntarily.

"Really?" Luke asked dangerously. "That doesn't sound fine to me."

Clary sighed, deciding that it was probably safer to just tell the truth now before Maia's body and Clary's angel blade did it for them. "We had a - a moment," she conceded. "But we got out of it quickly, and we got out of _there_ quickly, too."

Jocelyn left the room briefly, and quiet fell over the three remaining. Apparently, Luke was going to let his fiancée take over the scene now.

She came back from the kitchen, armed with a damp towel which Clary supposed was either hot or cold. She pressed Maia to the sofa and lifted the bottom of her t-shirt to reveal a large purple bruise blooming just above her belly button. The girl lay the towel on it gratefully.

Clary wondered if her mother had lost some of the initial anger yet. She decided to test her theory out by asking tentatively, "How does it feel, Maia?"

The werewolf girl nodded and smiled slightly. "Like a huge vampire stamped on me. But it's okay," she added hurriedly, glancing at the adults' faces.

"I think you'd better explain yourselves," Jocelyn said, sitting down next to Maia. "Thoroughly."

It took about half an hour to explain the night's events in such a light that made the two girls feel like they had been reasonably justified in their excursion. After several "we did it because we thought it would help Simon,"s and "we didn't do it just for the sake of it"s, they felt reasonably sure that this was the case.

"So," Jocelyn said once they'd finished talking. "_Did_ you find anything out?"

_Ah,_ Clary thought guiltily. _About that..._

"Yes," Maia said loudly. Clary wheeled to stare at her. "We did."

"You did?!" Luke asked, voice saturated with the surprise Clary felt.

"Yes," she said again. "But I think Clary understood it better than me."

Clary's jaw dropped involuntarily. She had understood _what_, exactly? Did Maia comprehend at all that she was seconds away from announcing that the Dumort trip had, in fact, been entirely fruitless? She recovered briefly enough to register both Jocelyn and Luke's expecting faces, and was sure Maia had sent her a satisfied glance out of the corner of her eye.

_Stupid girl_, she thought venomously, mind working furiously to come up with a plausible finding that at the same time, stayed pretty inconclusive. _Offloading every little bit of responsibility on me so that _I_ have to save both our skins. She's such a Downworlder_.

Clary was too preoccupied with story making to note the hostility of the voice's silky disapproval.

"Well – we found out that the, er," Clary's mind combed the scene playing on fast-forward in her mind for some hair of information that might help. Annoyingly, much of it was either blurry with the memory of adrenaline or faded out in fear. The only thing that really jumped out at her was Maia being hurled to the ground, and finally knowing they were about to leave the place. Finally, she thought of something that might pass as 'finding out'. "Um, the vampires didn't know about my rune power. At least, the tall blonde one didn't."

She held her breath.

"That," Jocelyn started. "Is very interesting." She turned to Luke. "It looks like Raphael is attempting more than domination of the New Clave Council. Judging by this, it seems he is at the very least withholding information to increase his hold over the nest now that he's no longer officially in charge –"

"And at most," Luke jumped in. "He could be keeping information from the New Clave that has the potential to devastate us. By not telling their leader about Clary's power, he is putting the entire clan at risk –"

Maia interrupted this time. "And doing that," she said confidently. "Is not very vampire-like at all."

Luke nodded. "They look after their own. We all do."

_Downworlders_, the voice came unbidden.

A surge of anger boiled up in Clary's chest, bubbling over before she had even decided whether she wanted its presence or not. When she did think, she decided it was completely justified.

"WHAT ABOUT SIMON," she yelled suddenly. Maia let go of the wet flannel and jumped up at the sudden volume. Possibly shimmering in the way that she tended to when things got tense, but Clary didn't care right now. "You _just_ said he was unconscious! He could be _dead_, he could be in the _hospital_, he could be –" she stopped suddenly as she registered what she just said. "HE COULD BE IN THE HOSPITAL!"

"Yes, yes you're right," Luke agreed, suddenly more distracted than he usually was. "And before this, we were on our way to stop that from happening."

"The New Clave members waiting for us managed to keep the portal opened just long enough for us to come straight back as soon as we found out," Jocelyn explained, judging by her frequent glances in the couch's direction, in answer to Maia's questioning look. "With any luck, Mrs Lewis will be asleep and won't have noticed anything."

"Hopefully," Luke said, now pacing the room, occasionally picking up a book or fallen seraph blade and shoving them in his huge pockets. "I sent Magnus a fire message –"

Jocelyn sighed. "We may be in danger of having to actually pay him soon."

"Will you just _go_?!" Clary asked impatiently, punctuating the word 'go' by pointing violently at the door behind her.

Neither parent seemed to hear her. Clary cast an incredulous look at Maia, who had replaced the flannel and was leaking fat tears as she sank back into the sofa. Before Clary could complain again, however, Luke spoke.

"This time," he told them, picking up the bag Clary had dropped when her rune had deposited them on the living room floor. "I mean it when I say _stay where you are_. Understood?"

"Yes," the girls muttered simultaneously.

"Good," Jocelyn said, briskly striding to the door. "Then we'll see you in a few hours." She paused as she opened the door for herself and Luke. "Simon will be fine. He's tough."

The door swung shut behind them.

"Tough enough?" Maia barely whispered.


End file.
